A Little Boy's Fantasy
by Phoenix Dayze
Summary: It's easy to fall back into old patterns, especially the bad ones. Cloud knows he's not really a hero. He's good for nothing...except what Rufus wants from him. Is there hope left? Or just this? Rape, mindfuckery, selfhatred, suicide, character death.


A Little Boy's Fantasy  
By: Phoenix Dayze

(Rufus/Cloud)  
NC-17

Warning: Rape, mind-fuckery, self-hatred, suicide, character death.

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or its characters. Lucky for them.

Cloud stared at the shrouded man as the door clicked shut. He swallowed thickly. They were locked in. Together. Just the two of them. He shifted the large blade in his hand, unsure whether he should sheath it, or if he should…

Cloud shut his eyes against the sudden urge to simply lash out, to seize control, to end this interlude before it began. He dug his fingertips into the hilt, sweat lacing against the leather grip. He couldn't…not now…not like this… There were still so many questions, so many things he hadn't yet laid to rest—people and memories and feelings. It was all jumbled, lost in the myriad personalities and confusion. He wasn't ready to…he couldn't possibly be expected to…

"You know, Cloud," the voice was low, calm. "You always did hang back when you should have moved forward. That's one of your shortcomings."

Cloud opened his eyes, focusing on the man before him, the shadows that caressed the line of a strong, similar jaw, the curve of the hunched shoulders that still bore enough strength to be intimidating, the restless twitching of long, slender fingers. Rufus was still…the same. The explosion, the altering of his path, the breaking away from his bastard father, none of it had changed _this_. Somehow, he was still…

A knot formed in Cloud's chest. He could smell the damnable, violating arousal rising up from beneath the coarse robes, could feel it wafting in the stale air to needle at his skin. And he knew, _he knew_, that to Rufus, he hadn't changed either. He wasn't the savior of the world, the man who had defeated Sephiroth; to him he was just a pretty grunt to be taken advantage of. To Rufus, Cloud was nothing more than a tight hole and a hot mouth. He never had been.

Cloud licked his lips, and the sword wavered in his hand as he stepped forward. "What do you want?" He silently cursed the slight raspy tremble in his voice. He wanted to be strong, but he felt small, worthless, and wretchedly, familiarly dirty.

"Cloud," his name on Rufus's lips was foul and full of invasive suggestion. "Put your sword away. Is that any way to greet an old…friend?" The sword disappeared with a metallic hiss and Rufus smiled, cold and hard. "Come closer. Let me get a look at you. It's been a while, after all."

Cloud moved, as if in a dream. He hadn't intended to, didn't _want_ to draw neared to this infectious disease that called him 'friend', but his body didn't obey him. It moved on instinct, called forth by the man that had been his master for so many years. Rufus Shinra still ruled him, and Cloud was powerless to do anything to stop the terrible intrusion that was only mere moments away. There were only three things in this life that Cloud craved—the red-flooded, agonizing visions of Zack's death, the sharp, vibrant penetration of his sword in Sephiroth's adored flesh, and Rufus Shinra's torturous, unfeeling touch. He hated them all, but he couldn't live, couldn't breathe without their familiar, smothering pain.

Cloud stopped just before the seated form, staring down at the man who had taken everything he had, the man who had stripped him of his innocence, his freedom, and his friends. The man who now wanted to do it all again. Tears stung his eyes, and Cloud swallowed them back. He would _not_ be weak. Not this time. Not ever again. He could be brave like Zack, strong like Sephiroth. They were part of him now, and he would _not_ cry! Not for the likes of Rufus Shinra.

"Cloud…"

So cold, so maliciously calm. A shudder of repulsion coursed down Cloud's body, eating away at his carefully patched self-esteem, tearing down his illusions, nudging at flesh that had been silent for the last two years. _No…_

Slowly, Cloud stripped. It was what was required of him, his service that of a different nature than what he dreamed of as a child; he wasn't worth anything more than this. Saving the world, being a hero…it had all been nothing more than a little boy's fantasy. This was who he was. _This_ was real.

He stalked his master, pulling aside the concealing robes with hands that steeled themselves against the vicious recoil that was their nature. He'd never been able to escape this. He'd been a fool to believe that he had. Reaching down into the shadowed depths of his tainted corruption, Cloud released the man's yearning shaft, swallowing against the terrorized disgust that threatened to make itself known. It was nothing foreign, this hard, relentless organ; it had just been a while.

Cloud crawled up into the chair, straddling the eager hips, letting his body rub against the straining flesh, teasing for bare moments, hoping for just a second to convince himself that he wanted this, to somehow trick his body into relaxing enough that he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the pain of the forced entry. He shifted his hips back and forth, pushing his own half-hard cock against Rufus's fully ready one, struggling to pull himself into some state of concrete arousal.

He could feel Rufus's eyes on him, the insensitive, calculating blue devouring him whole. The tight, desperate need that forced him to move like a whore, the frightened coil of defeat and resignation in the wide expression of his eyes, the despised, aching breaths that dropped like black admissions from his slick, parted lips. A light, rumbling chuckle at Cloud expense rose up from Rufus's body and hard, demanding hands seized his hips.

Cloud bit his lip until it bled as he was breached, years of near-forgotten sensations rolling through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and let Rufus pull him down, down, down until he was seated tightly against the man's lap, his passage full to the point of pain. He gasped against the intrusion, but said nothing.

Then, they moved, deep, rolling thrusts that had Rufus iron hard and throbbing so impossibly far inside Cloud's body that Cloud half-expected to be sliced clear through with pale, morning-colored agony. But he didn't die. Harsh, unbidden fire curled through his blood, and his body arched involuntarily into its welcome, damning embrace. Desire flooded through him, crowding his shame-clouded mind with bitter, pathetic lust.

Fingers, cold and coaxing, wrapped around his sex, and Cloud felt himself stiffen instantly, striving to please—or appease—this man who controlled him so awfully, deliciously completely. A voice. "Come now, Cloud. Don't disappoint me. Give into me, just like you used to." Steady, hard, lingering thrusts.

Cloud tightened like a whip cord lashed in a storm, his body coming alive with electricity that sizzled through him, flooding him with hollow death as it spilled his terrible indiscretions out in a stream of liquid proof, just like it always had. There was a rough grunt below him and fingers bruising into his hip bones as heat scoured him raw in places that he could never wash clean.

And as he slowly, gingerly removed himself from Rufus's body, Cloud knew with heart-wrenching certainty that _this_ was all he had to look forward to now. This was his future.

Rufus barely acknowledged him as he left, and Cloud stepped out onto the small balcony, the sun damnably bright and cheery, almost as if it were mocking him. With a heavy sigh, Cloud drew his sword. He propped it on the deck with a clang and stared at it blankly. So much power, so much misrepresentation. He wasn't worthy of this sword, or its legacy.

Reaching out, Cloud drew his wrist along the blade, a gasp of sharp relief piercing the numbness of his soul as life-red blood streamed down his arm. Rapt, Cloud switched hands and repeated the motion, ignoring the reverberating clunk of the sword as it fell. He stared at his red-coated hands, his mind alive with Zack's staring eyes, and Sephiroth's disbelieving shock of pain. _Yes…this is what I want… More…more of this… More…_ Crimson betrayal, ruby loss, fiery, passionate death.

A haze in his vision, an eager, refreshing blurriness that spread through his limbs, taking away everything but the throbbing in his wrists and the beautiful, untamed red. _Yes…_

tbc.


End file.
